


Dry

by icedcafelatte



Series: Blue [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dehydration, Desperation, Gen, Injury, Original Character(s), Storms, Sunburn, Washed ashore, Whump, merman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 21:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17312294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedcafelatte/pseuds/icedcafelatte
Summary: The sun is blaring, he can feel it even through closed eyelids. His head pounds a cruel rhythm behind his eyes. He feels sore, stiff, heavy. It would be easy to slip back into unconsciousness, but first he needs to know where he is.And why the answer isn't in water.





	Dry

**Author's Note:**

> So I discovered the whump community on tumblr and this is going to be my place to drop the short pieces I write there. This is my first story featuring this merman character! Inspired by a prompt on tumblr

He remembers the storm. And then nothing.

 

When he comes to he groans. The sun is blaring, he can feel it even through closed eyelids. His head pounds a cruel rhythm behind his eyes. He feels sore, stiff, heavy. It would be easy to slip back into unconsciousness, but first he needs to know where he is.

 

And why the answer isn't  _ in water. _

 

He slowly opens his eyes against the harsh light and sure enough, no water anywhere. He can hear the crashing of waves but he can't see them. His pulse quickens with fear.

 

He's on a hard rock surface. Around him are bits of debris - seaweed, driftwood, shells, a clump of cloth. All like him, thrown here by the violent storm.

 

His skin is still damp. For now. He can already feel the gills on the side of his neck straining to take in what little moisture they can. He takes an experimental breath with lungs he rarely uses, coughing on the exhale. They bring in air but they're weak. In time it won't be enough.

 

With a sigh he closes his eyes and takes inventory of his body. He can move his hands, his arms, without pain. His chest is straining with the effort of breathing but seems otherwise fine. His head still pounds. His back hurts. His tail…

 

He tries to move it and it only jerks up weakly. He whines softly. His tail is sore, so sore and weak from frantically fighting the pounding waves to get to safer waters.

 

He tries to lift his head to look at it but there's a sharp twinge in his neck and he drops it back quickly. The moment his head hits rock again pain flares, and he sinks into blackness.

 

*

 

He awakes during the night to the sound of crashing waves. The moonlight doesn't hurt the way the sun did, but he feels heavy and still so tired. He drifts off again.

 

*

 

When he wakes in the morning it's with a sudden, violent gasp. He takes in a big gulp of air with his lungs, then another, shuddering with the effort.

 

His gills have run out of moisture. He's depending entirely on his lungs now.

 

_ I'm going to die here _ , whispers his fearful mind.

 

He focuses on breathing. In, out. In, out. His chest heaves with every breath. At least the pounding in his head has dulled, somewhat.

 

*

 

By afternoon the sun is back in full force, its heat beating down on him mercilessly. He takes one raspy breath after another.

 

His whole body aches. His skin feels so hot, hotter than it’s ever felt, and he reluctantly opens his eyes to look at himself.

 

It’s worse than he thought. His skin has turned an angry pink, from his chest all the way down to where scales begin, and up both arms to his shoulders. And it’s...it’s  _ dry _ , he realizes with growing fear. He lifts a trembling hand to his own face and then flinches at the touch. It  _ burns _ . With a hiccuping breath he moves the hand down to his stomach and feels it, flinches again. Everything is dry, and everything burns, and still his lungs insist on pulling in air when he’s beginning to wish they’d stop, because this is the worst thing he can imagine, slowly  _ drying _ to death here on this rock.

 

Something wet is rolling down his cheeks and he looks to the sky, hopeful for a moment that it’s rain. How nice rain would feel right now, cool and soothing…

 

But the sky is cloudless, blue, and still the sun beats down on him. He begins to sob, and when the force of his sobs makes the pain in his body rage, he only cries harder.

  
  


*

 

That night it rains, and he wishes he hadn’t wished for it. The droplets hitting his raw, burned skin hurt at first, before the sensation numbs. It’s cool, though, and that’s the only mercy he gets. His gills flutter, trying to breathe in this new water, but it’s all wrong and stale. He coughs and wheezes through the night. He doesn’t sleep.

 

*

 

In the morning the sky is gray. He tries to move his tail again. It feels like it’s made of stone but he tries, the scales look cracked and sickly but he tries, it hurts, it  _ hurts _ , but he  _ tries _ , muscles straining. He manages to move it once, then again, just little waves. The pain is almost worth the small wash of relief that he can still move his tail.

 

Then he tries to sit up. Little by little, propping up first on his elbows, pausing to catch his breath as every movement pulls at his damaged skin. Then from his elbows to prop up on his hands, yes, there, there…

 

A sudden, sharp twinge in his back makes him tense up, movements stuttering as he struggles to remain upright, head tossed back, mouth open, forcing out a high, pained sound he didn’t know he could make.

 

The pain wins out and he drops back to the ground, panting, settling despairingly into his new reality. When the storm tossed him here he must have damaged something - in his back or neck or both. Because every time he tries to move it, pain shoots through him like lightning.

 

If he can’t even sit up he can’t hope to make it to the edge. If he can’t do that, he’ll never get home.

 

*

 

No rain that night, or the next day. The sun beats down worse than ever, or maybe it just feels that way, because by now his skin is so dry it’s starting to crack and peel. His lips bleed. Everything burns. Even his eyes feel like they’re burning.

 

His breath comes out in ragged gasps. He didn’t think his lungs would hold out this long. He comes to resent them for prolonging his suffering. His kind wasn’t meant for more than a few hours out of water, let alone a few days.

 

As the day goes on, he begins to feel dizzy. He’s trembling and he doesn’t know why.

 

He blacks out for a while. He welcomes it.

 

*

 

That night is blessedly cool, but he dreads the thought of tomorrow. He can’t bear another day of brutal sun. He  _ won’t _ .

 

What he must do next...he doesn’t look forward to either. But it’s his only chance. And the last one he’ll get.

 

Bracing himself, he slowly begins to shift. His skin and muscles protest, but survival is all he can think of now. He turns, slowly, onto his side, and that alone is enough to make him need a break to catch his breath.

 

Then he turns again, this time onto his front. Onto his burned, damaged chest and stomach and tail, and  _ that _ is almost too much. He clenches his fists and whimpers, closing his eyes against a dizzy spell, trying to settle into the pain, to accept it.

 

He slowly looks up. Even with his head spinning, he can see the edge of the cliff. It’s farther than he’d like, but he can see it. So maybe he can reach it.

 

Desperation takes over. He begins to  _ drag _ himself forward, skin scraping on the hard rock. His mouth opens with a cry of pain that his throat is too dry to make. And still, he continues forward. His skin tears and his scales chip but he keeps going, his tail is more hindrance than help but he forces himself forward, inch by inch to the edge.

 

When he finally reaches it he collapses, breathing heavily, arms draped over the edge. He turns his head to look down at the water he’s so missed. Just the smell of the salt water soothes him. He can almost feel the spray of the waves against the cliff.

 

There are some rocks below. Not many, but enough that hitting one is an option.

 

It’s a risk he’ll take. He’s hurting, alone, and so very tired. All he wants now is the ocean.  _ Home _ .

 

He pulls himself a little closer, arms trembling as he props himself up on the edge.

 

Then he closes his eyes, and he just…

 

Falls.

**Author's Note:**

> [my whump tumblr](http://thoughtsonhurtandcomfort.tumblr.com/)


End file.
